


Stigma

by kimbleefucker (hihowareya)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Hair Washing, aka i fantasize about a lot of weirdly specific scenarios, and put them in writing, eventual smut but nothing too intense so don't get your hopes up, subtle bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-08-06 20:32:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16394618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihowareya/pseuds/kimbleefucker
Summary: Your time working as a groomer at Central Prison had never experienced such enjoyable company





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is actually sort of a rehash of my oc/self insert's backstory reformulated as a reader insert, but know in ur heart... it was crafted with her in mind. still, i hope u can enjoy it. one of the chapters will be nsfw, so the rating is for that. that wont be til a chapter or 2.
> 
> if you like it i appreciate kudos and/or comments it helps me feel motivated :'3c bls give me positive reinforcement

Tying the apron around your waist, you picked up the supplies you'd gathered and walked into the solitary section of the Central Prison. In your wildest dreams as a child, bathing convicts would have ranked fairly low on your fantasy job list. But, money is money and the jobs refused by others garnered the highest pay, something you weren't apt to turn down. You stopped at the first cell, quickly checking your watch before slipping it into your pocket. 8 hours to go. 

You had done something similar before, for the elderly, when working as a caretaker at the facility your terminal grandmother had resided at. Then, it seemed far less daunting. But of course none of those people were murderers or rapists (at least, not that you or the state knew of). 

Opening the cell you got a good look at the man, rough and ugly. He seemed all too eager for your attention. You put it out of your mind. Luckily most of the prisoners could handle themselves from the waist down, your job was more focused on washing hair or unreachable places like their backs- sometimes you pretended you were just working at a very specific kind of salon with a very particular customer base. 

Almost all of them made crude comments about where they wish your hands would drop or how nice your fingers felt, or how much they'd like to give you a bath in return. It was not unexpected, but still unwelcome. Now you had only an hour left in your shift and one more to go, and you were more than ready to turn in. Even through the thin material of your latex gloves your fingers felt pruney and your wrists ached from the constant motion. The warden led you to the cell furthest down the hall, muttering insults at all of the others on the way, though you weren't paying much attention. 

“-and this guy, the one you're about to see?” you attention snapped back. “A real loon, some renowned state alchemist took out one too many in Ishval and thought he could rule the world. See how far that got'em. Rottin' here like any other common criminal.” 

“A state alchemist?” You'd only known of a few that ended up here. 

“Yeah, gave up all those accolades for some 10 by 10 room. Isn't that something? Don't even seem upset about bein' here. A real wacko.” Your stomach dropped at the idea, and the mental image you conjured in your mind of the terrifying criminal loomed over your sudden arrhythmia. You heard about a state alchemist that turned traitor in the war, after near single handedly earning Amestris the victory. You recalled your mother mentioning it was a shame that a talented young man turned out that way, and then going on to praise the famed Roy Mustang instead.

When you were finally mere feet away you watched the warden unlock it and took a step back, holding the bucket of supplies in your hands tighter.

“Kimblee,” The warden called in. Right, that was his name. “get up and get your ass over here, you wanna get clean don't you?” He swung the cell door open and held it, motioning with his other hand. The sound of foot steps made your stomach turn and you reflexively took a step back to give more space. Of course, when the man stepped into the dim lighting in front of you, he wasn't at all what you imagined. 

A great deal more slight in stature, features far less harsh or aggressive. Despite his current condition, you'd even say he was a great deal handsome, if not a bit unkempt at the moment. His expression was tired but smug. He turned to the warden and in a tone you would normally consider thoughtful said: “Thank you for holding the door for me, I don't think I could have gotten it myself.” and held up his hands bound far in stockade-like shackles. You glimpsed some sort of design on his palm. He offered the warden a genuine looking smile and the warden slammed the cell door closed. 

“Shut up. Let's get this over with.” He pushed Kimblee's back a little harder than necessary and he walked past you. The warden followed and you turned to catch up. As your stride brought you next to Kimblee his attention finally turned to you. 

“And who's your plus one?” The way he looked at you felt friendly and welcoming, and your found yourself a bit a war with what you now knew of him and the mental conjuring from before.

“She's here to help you get a bit more presentable, you blind?” 

“So I've gathered.” Kimblee looked down at the supplies in your hands then back up to meet your face. “I meant your name.” He spoke to your directly this time and upon registering it you answered. He offered you another seemingly warm smile. “That's a very beautiful name.” 

You stopped in front of the door to the washroom as the warden unlocked it. Kimblee turned to you. “Solf J. Kimblee, but I'm sure you already knew that. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. You'll have to forgive my rudeness, I would shake your hand...” He held up his shackled wrists in a way that showed off his tattooed palms opened. “...but I'm not really able at the moment.”

“That's alright.” You returned his kind smile, pleased and surprised that you met someone here as polite as him. 

“Hey, this ain't a mixer. Just get in there and do what you need to do, and make it fast.” The warden's brusqueness hastened you and you stepped in, Kimblee following after you in a more leisurely pace. He probably didn't get to walk around so much, normally.

The door shut behind you and there was a part of you that expected your life to end here- that this man, this convict, would take you out at any moment. And you knew he probably could, press the flat of his palms against you and end your life with his alchemy. 

But he didn't. You turned to him and he still wore the same questioning smile, and cocked his head slightly; a lock of hair fell over his shoulder when he did. 

“You'll have to take your shirt off- but I'm not sure how you can with those on...” You motioned to his shackles. 

“Yes, these are rather cumbersome. Hold on for just a moment.” He turned and knocked on the door for the warden to open it. It slammed open and the agitated expression you expected was present. “You're making our guest's job rather hard you know- how is she to even begin here, when I can't even take anything off?” The warden grit his teeth at this and grabbed for his keys. 

“You know if you try anything, I have permission to shoot right between your ugly eyes. Is that clear?”

“Absolutely.”

You admired Kimblee's calm demeanor, even as the warden undid the shackles to allow him to pull the gray prison garb over his head and take only a moment to rub his wrist and relish the feeling of touching one hand to the other before he was demanded to offer both his hands again to be roughly bound. 

“Now hurry up.” 

The door shut once again and you set up your supplies, the floor still a bit wet from earlier. It was supposed to be cleaned in between your washes, but you doubted it was. Kimblee seemed to know the drill and nudged one of the wooden stools over a bit with his heel before taking a seat. You grabbed the other and positioned it behind him, and grabbed the bucket of water. It should have been changed from earlier, but of course it wasn't. The water was cold, and could have been cleaner. You felt a twinge of guilt, wishing you had something better to offer the man who had been surprisingly courteous to you.

“I'll try to make this quick.” You set the bucket down and sat down behind him.

“By all means, take all the time you need.”


	2. Chapter 2

You were about to dip your hands into the cold water, and decided to do something to make your job a bit easier. “Hold still.” You asked him.

“Of course.” Kimblee was all too happy to oblige you. 

You rummaged around a bit and eventually found what you were looking for- a brush. Not as nice as the ones you would use on your own hair, but it would have to do. You reached out and slipped one hand beneath his hair, and eventually brought the brush to it. You expected much worse, given he probably didn't have much ability to do this himself, but found it wasn't as hard as you expected. Occasionally you'd stop at a tangle and work through it with your fingers. The silence almost made you uncomfortable, given the intimacy. 

“I'm impressed you managed to keep your hair so well taken care of here.”

“It's not easy, I can't do more than run my fingers through it, and I can't reach all of it. But I do what I can.” You could hear the faint smile in his voice. “I'm certain there are plenty of split ends though.” You'd have suggested he get it trimmed when he was released but... there really was no chance of that happening, was there?

“It's not too bad, sometime, perhaps I could try trimming them for you. At least to get the split ends.” You were no stylist, but clipping an inch off the ends seemed like no real challenge.

“I would like that- I'll hold you to it.” You felt the corner of your mouth twitch into a smile. 

But it faded when you started to realize the gravity of his situation. Whenever you would lift his hair to brush it, your fingers grazed his back, and you caught a glimpse of just how thin he was. His spine more visible than it should be, the way you could almost trace your fingers over his ribs. Your heart hurt at the thought of the state opting to starve him to death to avoid the fees of the death penalty. He had been here for a few years now, how much longer could he last?

Why should you though? Why feel this way? This man was a traitor to his country, killing superior officers in a time of war. And as a soldier, he had killed so many Ishvalans. He was a murderer if nothing else and the blood of many stuck to his pale hands. 

But he was also polite and considerate of you. You felt a disconnect of what you felt of him, and how you thought you should feel. 

You ran your fingers through Kimblee's hair again, it was well deserving of a wash but otherwise it was free of tangles and felt soft enough. 

“I'm going to start now- but I should tell you, they didn't change the water like they should have. It won't be very warm, and I wish it were a bit fresher. I'm sorry.” He said nothing, but you saw his narrow shoulders roll in a shrug, not terribly upset by this. 

The other prisoners had short hair, mostly. It was a lot easier to manage. But his hair was nearly waist length, and you considered how that might challenge you. You plunged the wash cloth into the water, ice cold on your hands. When it absorbed enough you held it over the back of his head and rung it out and a generous amount of water saturated his hair and ran down his back. While the temperature of the water nearly made you recoil, he didn't even flinch. He was unmoving. A few more times rewetting and wringing the cloth and you could feel his hair sufficiently wet. 

There was no real shampoo you'd been given, it was mostly soap, and even then it didn't seem very high quality. You lathered it into your hands and started with the ends of his hair. It didn't lather or foam as well as normal shampoo did, but you could still see enough when it was starting to get sudsy. You moved up and up until your fingertips grazed the back of his neck, and you heart fluttered as if he'd gently touched your neck instead. 

It didn't calm at all, as you moved up and felt warm skin to skin contact as you started to push your fingers under the black locks to massage the soap into his scalp. Occasionally strands would fall forward, inclining themselves to slip over his forehead, and you delicately pulled them back with focus to avoid getting soap into his eyes. 

You found yourself getting lost in your task, and noticed that occasionally Kimblee would move, only just slightly, as if to lean into your touch. It almost reminded you of a cat, the way they would bump their heads into your hand as you go to pet them. For a moment you were concerned he was dizzy, and perhaps losing balance. 

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes- perfectly fine. Why?” He didn't move at all, but it felt like he was staring at you still, even though he was clearly looking in the opposite direction. 

“I just noticed... you leaned against my hand, and I was worried you might not be feeling quite right at the moment.” You heard the tips of his fingers just barely click against the shackle as they thrummed against it. 

“Ah, so you noticed- I suppose I should feel embarrassed.” This time he did turn his head only slightly, perhaps to catch you in his peripheral. “Apologies for my impulsiveness. As you might imagine, it's been a very long time since I've experienced any sort of affectionate contact. You might say I'm a bit touch starved.” There was a hint of a chuckle in his voice. “Especially being in solitary for so long.”

Though he claimed he should be, you were the one feeling embarrassed. You hadn't realized your touch had been so affectionate or intimate, it wasn't intended to be. Though you couldn't blame him for relishing in what was likely the first sign of physical affection he'd experienced in many years. You were so inclined, perhaps, to allow him more. 

“That's alright... It's understandable, after all.” You contemplated how to continue, but decided to just go as you were. “If you want to keep doing that, I don't mind. It's not a bother.” He seemed to contemplate your offer and replied with a simple 'thank you' and allowed you to continue.

He seemed much more aware of his actions now, though did nothing to stop them. Occasionally when he would lean into your touch, you would linger and draw your motions out longer. It reminded you of when you would scratch your cat behind the ear, and it would slowly close it's eyes and enjoy the feeling; you wondered if his expression was similar. Eventually of course you had to rinse, and pulled back, and once again retrieved the wash cloth to saturate and ring again until you made sure all of the soap was out. Your fingers ran through his wet hair again to make sure it was clean then ran the soap over the wash cloth. 

“I'll do your back now, and your shoulders if you're comfortable with it.” He hummed in amusement.

“You'll go so far? Most would stop here, or even earlier.” You were surprised at this. 

“Really? I would hope anyone in my position would do their job dutifully.” He barked a laugh.

“If I'm being honest, most will just dump the bucket of water over your head and call it a day.” The idea of doing that made you frown. “But I admire your desire to complete the task you chose so sternly. It's very becoming.”

You almost thought he was flirting with you, though his compliment seemed genuine. “I do what I can. Now, this'll be cold again...” You spent the next few minutes running the cloth over his back and over his shoulders. Considerate of his admittance to you earlier, you would occasionally allow your massaging a bit longer than necessary. It wasn't putting you out at all and he seemed to appreciate it. When all was said and done, you rinsed it out and again and held the cloth in your hand.

“I trust you can handle yourself from the waist down... I don't think we're close enough for that.” He snorted and finally turned to look over his shoulder at you, meeting your eyes for the first time in nearly a half hour. His eyes were cold and calculating, there was something about them that made it feel like he could see right through you. But, you were drawn to them as well. 

“I think I'll manage.” He said finally, his expression softening and his smile appeared genuine. 

“Good. The rest of the supplies for prisoner usage should be near the faucet, I'll give you some privacy.” As you packed up your supplies you saw him stand from the corner of your eye; he was a bit taller than you, but not a terribly intimidating height.

“Thank you for your hard work. Can I trust I'll see you again?” 

“I'll be here at least twice a week. Next time, I'll see if I can't do more for you.”

“You've already done me a great deal, your efforts wont go unnoticed.” The way he stared at you, unmoving or blinking, was uncanny. Though you didn't feel in immediate danger, there was something about his gaze that rendered you almost motionless. You thanked him for his appreciation then walked to the door. Your hand on the handle you turned to him again.

“By the way, what the warden said before, about your eyes-” he looked at you and met your eyes with his, expression curious. “-they're not ugly.” The corner of his mouth slid into a smile and with that acknowledgment of your compliment, you left the room to go home for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think about it- kimblee not having any sort of kind human contact while in prison- a lot. i always wonder, how he would appreciate after being touch starved for so long. don't you?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is short! the next one is the Good Stuff.
> 
> i lose motivation and what not and ask for ideas on tumblr and twitter a lot if u like this and want to actively talk to me abt it u should follow me on twitter where i talk to ppl abt my stuff more often (@kimbleefucker ofc)

Your time at Central Prison had become less and less of a chore, the more time you spent there. You came to learn a few prisoners names, their stories, who they were as people outside of convicts. You'd learned that some of them, in your opinion, didn't deserve to be there. You heart went out to them, and instinctively you couldn't help but allow your comforting nature to empathize and attempt to soothe them with kind words.

Yet, ironically one of the ones who probably deserved to be there the most, was monopolizing all of your attention- and not of his own volition. 

You had been able to work out situations here and there, change your schedule, in attempt to favor Kimblee, for whatever reason. In an objective sense he probably didn't deserve it. But without any effort on his part, he won you over with his politeness, his disposition, and his charismatic allure. 

Sometimes you would make sure to get to him first, to make sure the water was hot and fresh, but found that after you had seen him the rest of your time seemed to drag. Occasionally you would however find the water had been changed and even leaving him for the end granted him a more enjoyable experience. He had noticed once before he was always first or last, never the middle of the pack. You tried to brush off the question, but he simply laughed and told you whether you were too excited to see him to wait or saving the best for last, he would accept the compliment regardless. You laughed yourself and told him not to get cocky (even if he was right).

You wondered if he could tell he garnered your favoritism- he probably could, given how exceedingly aware he was of everything around him. Not that it would be hard to tell. You would occasionally sneak nicer shampoo or soap or conditioner in, you made good on your promise to trim the split ends of his hair, and when you felt comfortable enough to, you managed to help him shave the bit of stubble that would crop up on his jaw now and again. You commented once on how impressed you were that it grew in so infrequently, and he admitted he was thankful for it, having no intention of ever growing or maintaining facial hair. 

It had been two months now, and you began to admit to yourself that seeing him and talking to him was becoming a highlight in your life. Sometimes you would vent about your family or friends, you would talk about your life outside of the small window he knew you for, and he would listen dutifully and support you- his kindness was seemingly unwavering. You would ask him about his life, his family or his interests sometimes, and he would tell you but only in so much detail. He seemed aware of his situation and knew how to tailor his words just so, only letting you know the surface of his life and who he was. 

Solf J. Kimblee was still an enigma to you. 

Still, he was magnetic. In your time with him, you'd admitted to yourself that perhaps you had developed some sort of attraction to him. His crimes aside (and what horrendous crimes they certainly were), his gentleman personality appealed to you and the part of you that found solace in being treated with respect. You found yourself certainly attracted to him physically, he was not normally your type- generally in a man you'd have gone for someone a bit more masculine, perhaps a bit stronger. But after being cleaned up a bit, he did have a mysterious draw to him. His eyes were cold but strangely inviting, you considered his face quite handsome enough almost especially from his androgynous appeal, and there was something terribly addictive about his seemingly genuine smile. 

Sometimes, you found yourself lingering here or there. You would rest your hands along his back or shoulders, or touch his pale forearms. He never pulled away from you, and you were reluctant to retract from him. He felt nice under your fingers.

Once or twice, you felt yourself become too excited from the intimacy and excused yourself while you went to come down from it. You knew he probably could- no, definitely could tell. But it wasn't like you would come right out and tell him; tell this man you had only known for a few weeks that you were dangerously attracted to him. Spare yourself the rejection. And why should you be wanting affection from a convicted murderer anyway? It was silly. 

Still, it was hard to deny. 

Your hands had lingered on his arms for a long time now as you parsed your thoughts and he turned to you slightly. 

“Are you alright?”

The sound of his voice in the empty room pulled you from your thoughts. You met his blue eyes with hesitancy, you could feel your heart thrumming in your ears. Almost absentmindedly, your hands softly slid down to the ditch of his elbow and down his forearms, your face inched closer to press against the back of his neck, inhaling deeply. It was mindless, it was instinctual, it was-

You were pulled out of it when he asked your name again, and came to your senses. What were you even thinking? 

“Yes, I'm fine. Excuse me for a minute, I need to use the restroom.” You hurriedly pulled away from him and stood up, and he tilted his head to observe you curiously. Oddly endearing. “I wont be long.” And you left the room quickly.

You did make it to the bathroom, only just barely. You felt dizzy and lightheaded and hot. Hot all over. He really was that influential on you? 

You chastised yourself for your impulsive physical reaction. How foolish. Now what could you do? If you went back, he would know what was up. He would know. Would he be uncomfortable, ask to never see you again? That would be sad, but how could you even face him again anyway? Would he brush you off, pretend neither of you remembered it? That wasn't like him, politeness aside he wasn't one to beat around the bush. Would he reciprocate your accidental advances, starting up a confused and potentially problematic relationship in the process? That would be hard to manage but you almost found it preferable. 

This was stupid. You looked at yourself in the mirror, face flushed and frown formed. What an idiot. Still, you steeled yourself and walked back in, clearing your throat. 

“Sorry about that, I wasn't feeling well suddenly.” 

Kimblee watched you over his shoulder. 

“It's not a problem. I'm glad you seem to be feeling better.” His tone was genuine but... there it was, that knowing look in his eyes that spread into a wide, knowing smile. “Are you feeling well enough to stay? Or will you be leaving early?” You had half a mind to tell he was potentially propositioning you, but it wasn't like you could just make a run at him now. What kind of person would he think you are?

“I'm feeling well enough to stay.” You announced, recognizing you had potentially just accepted an offer of intimacy here. But it wasn't reluctance. If he was feeling anywhere near the amount of sexual tension you were, then there was no miscommunication. You strode more confidently now and reclaimed your seat behind him. 

“I'd like to continue now.” You told him.

“By all means.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2nd to last chapter which means you all get the unimaginative NSFW you were hoping for, I hope you will continue to read the last chapter even after this... thank you

With your candid acceptance of his offer, your hands carefully slid over his body as they always did, but there was no haste; you felt no pressure to do your job and leave. This was an experience you were determined to savor. 

There was no hesitation from him either, leaning into your touch confidently. Of course you both knew. 

Your palms rest on his shoulders, still damp, slid down his arms to the ditch of his elbows. You hesitated at the sensitive area, leaned forward to press your forehead to the nape of his neck- his long, wet black hair pulled over his shoulder. You always managed to stay exceptionally dry, provided apron of some assistance, but you thought perhaps this time you might find yourself not so fortunate (or, was it now unfortunate?).

Your hands slid down until they bumped into the wooden stock his wrists were held in, your fingers rubbing the area gingerly. You could feel various indentations and cuts, bruising around his wrists from the years of being held captive. When you pressed to feel them further his pulse fluttered against your fingertips and your heart beat quicker. The reality of the situation, of his lively presence, was almost overwhelming. You moved your head up slightly to kiss the back of his neck as your fingers lightly massaged the injured skin of his delicate wrists. You tasted soap on your lips but the bitterness almost counteracted how sickeningly sweet he seemed to taste otherwise. 

You had plenty of time, and Kimblee obviously had no plans either, but you were anxious to rush headlong into this. You felt like there was a boiling pit of desire welling up in your guts and while it seemed to hit so suddenly, it washed over you torrentially. 

“Does it hurt?” You asked him, your fingers grazing over the old cuts and notches in his wrists.

“Now and again.” Kimblee spoke of it casually, like it was nothing to him. “But I don't mind it. Sometimes it's cathartic, you know; being able to really experience much of anything. A little pain could be the highlight of my day- they do all blend together.” He didn't seem to be asking you to do anything, but you pressed harder into a cut and heard his sharp inhale, your face still pressed against him. “Yes... something like that, I suppose.” You wondered if he ever intentionally hurt himself like that, to pass the time, to feel anything.

But you weren't here to do that. Your hands moved from his wrists to his legs as they sat upon them, aggressively trailing your palms and near-clenched fingers up his thighs until they sat above the edged notches of his hip bones, through the fabric of the prison provided pants.

“I should ask for your consent.” You breathed against his neck heavily, adjusted yourself forward to press your lips against his narrow jaw. 

“Do I seem like I might deny it?”

“Silence isn't consent...” You confidently moved to lightly bite at the area where his neck and shoulder met. 

“Yes, that's true. I admire your appreciation for my autonomy, even here.” Kimblee moved so he could catch you in his peripheral, only slightly. “Let this be my statement of complete consent then, if I should withdraw it, you'll know.”

“Accepted.” You mused, lovingly running your fingers over his hip bones. You didn't want to seem too excited but... you couldn't deny that you had to hold yourself back.

Your right hand felt hot and shaky as it slid over his waist, the fabric strange against your skin, as it stopped to lightly palm him through the fabric blocking your skin to skin contact. Even through it though, you could feel he was unsurprisingly half hard.

You wondered how he would have been able to do this himself- if he was even able to do this himself. Probably not.   
Though, the idea of his being unable, and being without for so long, excited you. You wondered how quickly he would come undone in your hands. 

You listened to his breathing, the lingering shakiness that accompanied it when he was greeted with your touch, and relished in it. After a moment you wrapped your fingers around him and tightened them, letting off a bit now and again. There was a sound in his throat that he seemed reluctant to fully vocalize; how charming. 

You exhaled against his neck and moved to slip your hand under all of his garments now, granting him skin to skin contact finally and he seemed to sigh contently. You squeezed confidently and felt him twitch in your hand, pleasurably swollen and no doubt aching for any sort of relief. 

You moved your other hand to pull at the waistband of his pants, lowered just enough to expose him and your hand to the cooler air. He made no attempts to fight you. 

You couldn't resist the urge to peek over and look at him in your hand, occasionally twitching, precum dewing already. He was about average, perhaps only slightly bigger, but you found his normalcy endearing. You moved your thumb to trace the circumcision line delicately, back and forth, and then up further to move against the ridge of the head. He made a small sound, not quite a moan. You swiped the pad of your thumb over the tip to smear the precum over him. 

“You're agonizingly meticulous.” Kimblee noted, a hint of amusement in his voice- still controlled but undeniably shaken. 

“Is that bad?”

“No, not necessarily. I might say I'm the same.” Your mind was flooded with the idea of him slowly teasing you the same way and your heart beat quickened. Perhaps not today, but you might make him pay you back. 

The waistband of his pants now in place below his exposed cock, your free hand trailed up over his side, over his chest. Your fingers lightly grazing over his ribs, his nipple, his clavicle, descending to rest just below his pectoral, though it was rather undefined with his atrophy. His body was lanky, thin. But you still found it attractive- still found him attractive. 

The hand wrapped around his cock squeezed again, harder, and he did moan now, low and quiet. You could feel his heart rate, his pulse, everything in him seemed to be demanding you to continue, begging for you. The feeling was intoxicating. 

Your hand loosened enough to slowly drag up his length, then slip back down again. On every ascent your fingers gathered any pearls of precum to slick your hand. He felt so hot against it, burning with every fiber in his being. You worked slowly, building up. Though he probably wouldn't last forever, given how long it must have been for him. Months? No, years. He was in solitary, no way for him to allow other prisoners to indulge in him (if he even would, but he seemed like he might be the type). 

Your wrist twisted every so often, you admitted to yourself you liked the velvety weight in your hand. You mapped and memorized each vein, which areas would make him twitch or gasp, everything. You made sure to slip your slicked palm over the head as well, your fingers grazing the delicate frenulum and corona, and he seemed less inclined to hold back anything. His voice sounded so unaccustomed, you attributed it to his being untouched for so long. 

You felt his hips twitch in movement, seemingly desperate to move along with your hand, though unable in this situation. You watched his hands in the handcuffs tensing, turned to lick a long stripe up his neck. The heat in your hand undeniable, you sped up significantly and bit into his shoulder, and in only a few hasty but loving strokes you felt the hot, thick, distinctive ropes paint across your hand and the back of the wooden shackle. The low moan he made was so close to your ears, you felt you may come in tandem with him. Even through it you moved, squeezing to make sure he was entirely well spent. 

You slowed your hand when it seemed to be at an end, waiting for him to catch his breath before you retracted yourself to clean the semen off your hand, and then you did the same for him and the handcuffs. 

“How long has it been?” You asked finally, pulling Kimblee from his haphazard afterglow. 

“A few years. Not since Ishval.” He seemed to pick up on your inquiry easily. “I do so appreciate your help. Unfortunately I can't seem to offer you anything in return.” 

You entertained the idea of spending your next visit together on the floor of the washroom, holding the shackles on his wrists for stability while riding him on the wet tiles.

“Maybe not this time. But perhaps next time.” He was silent for a moment, thoughtful. 

“If there is a next time, then perhaps, yes.” Kimblee looked past you almost wistfully, like he was staring at something not quite there.

“If? Are you planning on going somewhere?”

“I'm not sure. I have a feeling that you and I may not see one another for a long time.” His characteristic smile slipped across his face. What did he know? Or think he knew?

“If that's true then that's a shame. I was really beginning to like my job.” 

“And I was beginning to enjoy my stay here. But nothing lasts forever.” 

“I suppose that's true.” You began to gather your things and adjusted his clothing appropriately. “I hope then that I do see you again.” His smile warmed. 

“Thank you, the feeling is assuredly mutual.”


	5. Chapter 5

Kimblee's premonition had indeed come true, and the following week, you found he had been released. You waxed disappointed, thinking that perhaps if he had been released he might attempt to contact you. 

He did not. 

You overheard the warden mention that he couldn't believe they let someone as dangerous as Kimblee out of prison, but that he was glad he didn't have to deal with him any longer. His fellow guards teased him about some prank the exonerated alchemist pulled on him in his departure.

6 months had gone by and you had given up on this fantasy. That's all it had been, you supposed. If nothing else, you could write “giving a handjob to a convicted murderer” off your bucket list and move on. 

But of course, you were still nostalgic. You were working in a different prison now, a smaller one in the east. Your parents had warned you to work a different job, over the past few months it seemed like more and more prisons or homeless centers were mysteriously emptied- all inhabitants inside murdered. 

This prison was so much more lax than Central, the guards didn't seem to care. The inmates weren't as polite- especially not as polite as he was. 

It was only an hour away from the end of your shift when screaming echoed throughout the halls and people were frantically running about. You felt the floor beneath your feet shake and decided it was time for you to leave, you were determined not to be a statistic. As you navigated the halls you heard voices, musing here and there about this or that. They sounded so familiar...

You picked up words like “Fuhrer” and “crest of blood” and “promised day” and it all meant nothing to you. Was the Fuhrer behind this? Had your leader truly abandoned his country? 

It didn't matter. What mattered now was escaping. You frantically climbed down the stairs, the rumbling of the building a handicap. You passed by bodies and bodies and bodies, blood across the walls and floor. 

The exit was within your sight, the light of the sun blinding you as you approached the door and just as you were about to run through, you felt yourself collide with someone and fell back onto the floor. 

“Where do you think you're going?” A strangely familiar voice inquired. Your eyes adjusted enough to look up at him and register that it had been the man you had been considering all this time, though his expression was only somewhat surprised to see you. “What a coincidence.” He mused. 

He looked a bit different now that he wasn't a prisoner. Fitted suit, neatly tied back hair, the brim of his hat shadowing his face ominously. He was still just as handsome, though quite a bit more intimidating. You searched for your words hastily. 

“Kimblee- you...” 

“Hm, I'm surprised you remember me. I'm flattered.” He smiled that same genuine smile and your heart softened. You felt so glad that he was here now, that you were safe now. You adjusted yourself and stood up, approached him cautiously.

“I don't know if you've noticed but there's- something is happening here. We need to go, I need to-” You were stopped when his tattooed palms reached out to hold your face, the arrays pressed against your cheeks. Out of the corner of your eye you could see the scars on his wrists still. You stopped as he leaned in to affectionately nuzzle against your neck. 

“I'm sorry I could never return your generosity. Bear in mind, it is something I will regret never having been able to repay.” You felt him pull back to press his lips against yours chastely, you stood in shock. As you considered leaning into him for more, you felt yourself roughly pushed to the ground, back into the doorway. You hit your head and almost blacked out, and you needed a moment to gather yourself. Sitting up to see Kimblee had stepped back out of the doorway. 

“K-Kimblee- what are you doing?” He seemed to be studying the building, positioning himself outside of it appropriately.

“I'm deeply sorry for this, (Y/N). I truly am.” He said as he clapped the arrays together, alchemic reaction bursting from his hands as he pressed them to the cold ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! The ending was something I debated on for a while, but this felt the most right. It started as a story that was part of my OCs background, but this was something a bit different. In the end this felt right; everyone is expendable to Kimblee, no matter what.
> 
> I've thought of doing more things outside of oneshots in the future if I can muster up the focus. Any feedback is appreciated. Thank you for your patronage.


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